


4 Times Eve Woke Cullen, and 1 Time He Woke Her

by faithlessone



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-02
Updated: 2015-08-02
Packaged: 2018-04-12 14:39:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4483169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faithlessone/pseuds/faithlessone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>4 times Eve woke Cullen, and 1 time he woke her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 4 Times Eve Woke Cullen - 1. Desk

“This will not do!” Dorian cries, as he loses yet another hand of Wicked Grace. Josephine is on particularly good form tonight, and has chosen the mage for her victim. “Where is our illustrious commander? And more importantly, his incredible ability to lose at cards?”

He might have had a little too much to drink.

Eve sighs lightly. “Working. Still.”

“Still? It’s long past the time for the books to be put away and the wine to be brought out. And that’s speaking as one who loves his books.”

Josephine smiles as she gathers the cards for another hand. “Some of us have to be dedicated to our work, else the Inquisition would fall apart.”

Dorian heaves a far more melodramatic sigh.

Varric laughs. “You just want another chance to see him in the altogether, Sparkler.”

“So?”

“I’m pretty sure the Inquisitor would have something to say about that. Not to mention Tiny.”

“Ugh, he’s off having quality time with his Chargers, and she doesn’t mind sharing, do you, love?”

Eve is about to say that she actually does mind sharing, quite a bit, but the idea of playing cards with Cullen again makes her smile.

“Right, that settles it. I’m going to his office and I will demand he plays with us.”

Dorian stands up with a flourish, then tilts sideways as the alcohol catches up with him. He sinks back down to his chair, as if on purpose.

“On second thoughts, we all know he won’t listen to me. Evie, be a darling and fetch him for us? Please?”

Eve gets to her feet, slightly steadier on them. Slightly. Steady enough to walk up to Cullen’s tower, which is the most important thing.

“Cullen?” she says, trying to be quiet as she pushes the door open. “Are you still working?”

He’s hunched over a pile of reports on his desk.

She makes it almost all the way over to him before she realises that he is not, in fact, still working. He is, in fact, fast asleep.

“That can’t be comfortable,” she says to herself, noting the awkward angle of his neck and shoulders, crashed out on a heap of paper and books. 

There’s a quill sticking out from under his cheek. She gently pulls it out, leaving a smudge of ink on his face. He’s still fast asleep.

She’s almost loathe to wake him. He’s always the first one up in the morning, always the last one down at night. The dark circles under his eyes have only become more prominent since reaching Skyhold and her promotion. She wonders how many times he’s fallen asleep at his desk. How many times he’s worked until he literally couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer.

Only the thought that he is going to wake in a few hours with a stiff neck, which he will probably take out on some unfortunate new recruits in the morning training session, forces her to attempt the task.

“Cullen?” she says, quietly. “Are you asleep?”

He is.

“Cullen?” she says, a little louder, in a sing-song voice. “Wake up!”

He doesn’t.

She moves around the desk to try something different.

And promptly trips over a pile of books on the floor, cunningly concealed as a pile of books. The resulting crash as she falls next to, and partially onto, Cullen’s chair, unsurprisingly wakes him up.

“What?” he says, jolted from his exhausted rest.

“Ow,” says Eve, pathetically, from her position on the floor.

“Inquisitor?” 

“Ow.”

“What are you doing on my floor?”

She stands up with the help of his outstretched hand, and leans against the desk.

“I was trying to wake you up.”

He smiles, still a touch confused. “You were very successful. Why were you trying to wake me up?”

“Dorian wants to see you naked.”

There’s a long pause, and Eve tries to work out what she was actually trying to say. The combination of alcohol, falling and the touch of Cullen’s hand has her brain very muddled.

“I meant, he wants you to come and play Wicked Grace with us.”

“I see.”

“I was sent to fetch you, but you were asleep. So I tried to wake you, and then your books launched a malicious ambush.”

He looks down, noticing the stack of books now toppled onto the floor.

“It’s a cunning defence measure,” he says, smiling. “Capable of catching any would be intruders.”

“Ow,” Eve repeats.

He shifts the chair and pulls her down onto his lap, kissing her softly. “Is it just Dorian who wants to see me naked?”

She smiles uncertainly. “No?”

“I can think of many more enjoyable ways to get me naked than playing cards.”

Her smile brightens as her wine-muddled brain finally catches up with the situation.

“That sounds like a better idea.”


	2. 4 Times Eve Woke Cullen - 2. Nightmares

Cullen’s strangled cry pulls her from sleep.

Eve looks over at him, seeing his head thrashing back and forth and his hands fisting in the sheets. Sweat pools in the hollow of his throat and his eyes are screwed shut, his forehead creased in pain and his mouth pressed tight against the screams that threaten to burst free. 

Without thinking, she moves, kneeling on the bed beside him. Close enough to touch, not close enough to smother.

She doesn’t know how to wake him. She doesn’t know if she ought to wake him. She knows he has nightmares, but this is the first time she’s witnessed one. He’s never frightened her before, but trapped in the fear and panic of his dreams, she doesn’t know how he will react. She would never, could never blame him herself, but she knows the same couldn’t be said for how he would respond if he did something to her by accident.

Carefully, she reaches out, running her fingers across the lines of his forehead. He flinches towards her, another, softer, cry escaping his lips. 

Emboldened by his reaction, she does it again, tracing the creases carefully until they begin to smooth out under her fingertips. Then she moves, caressing his temples, his jawline, combing through his hair, damp with sweat. He’s so warm, burning under her hands.

Something she dimly remembers from a healing magic class so many years ago comes to the forefront of her mind. She sends a little ice magic into her fingertips. Not enough to hurt him, just a hint, chilling her hand to cool him. He twists into her touch, pressing his head against her hand.

“Cullen, you’re safe,” she says, quietly. “I’m here.”

He twists again, face relaxing just a little, the rictus of pain lifting in tiny increments until he is all but peaceful.

“I’m safe,” she says. “You’ve got me.”

One hand releases the sheets, grasping blindly for something else. She grabs it, lacing his fingers with hers and holding tightly.

“Wake up, Cullen,” she says. “Come back to me.”

He pulls on their joined hands, rolling onto his side to face her. She moves closer to him, sliding herself so that her arm is around him and he can rest his head against her shoulder. He’s still so warm, so tense. She carries on stroking his hair, tracing steady paths across his head and neck. All the while, she keeps up her mantra, hoping that the words will bring him closer to her.

“You’re safe. I’m safe. Come back to me.”

Eventually, he relaxes completely, his weight going slack against her side.

“Eve?” he breathes.

“I’m here. You’ve got me.”

He lifts his head, eyes barely open a crack, as if he’s not sure she’s there and doesn’t want the dream to be over.

“Wake up, Cullen,” she says. “I promise, you’re safe.”

His eyes drift reluctantly open.

“Eve,” he repeats.

She smiles, running her cold fingers along his shoulder. He shivers, and she pulls her hand back.

“I’m sorry. Is that bad?”

“It’s wonderful,” he replies, still only half awake. “I never realised magic could be like that.”

“Like what?”

He lifts her other hand, pressing it to his forehead. At his slight nod, she chills her hand. His eyes drift closed again, his smile blissful.

“Like that,” he whispers.

She strokes the hair back from his face. “How are you?”

He opens his eyes again. “Better. I was drowning in the past, I was lost in fear, I was trapped in the Fade, and… you found me. You pulled me back. I felt you. I heard you. And you pulled me back.”

“You’ve had nightmares before.”

“And I wake up screaming and alone. Or confused and panicking, not knowing where or who I am. I almost killed Cassandra the first time she tried to wake me from a nightmare. But I felt your touch, and heard your voice, and I knew I was safe.” 

“You’re always safe with me.”

He cups her cheek in his hand, no longer fire hot or shaking. “And no matter how deep the nightmares take me, I will always come back to you. I promise.”


	3. 4 Times Eve Woke Cullen - 3. Picnic

“Do you have some time?” Eve asks, slipping inside Cullen’s office.

“Is there something on your mind?” he replies, smiling. It’s a well-worn pattern by now.

“I need to borrow you.”

He smirks. “Give me a moment. Then I’m yours.”

She waits patiently for him to finish the report he’s writing and push it aside. He stands, walking towards the door that leads to the battlements as usual. She shakes her head, smiling.

“I need to borrow you a little longer than that.”

He tilts his head quizzically, but allows her to take his hand and lead him to the stables.

“I have training this afternoon,” he protests.

“Rylen’s taking it. Inquisitor’s orders.”

“There’s a War Table meeting in a few hours.”

“It’s been rescheduled to tomorrow morning.”

“We both have reports to read.”

“Reports that can wait a day, Cullen.”

“I… I’ve run out of excuses.”

She grins, reaching up to kiss him quickly. “Good.”

Both their horses are already saddled and laden with provisions, giving him little time to think of any other impediments to her plan. Her very simple and necessary plan.

Get Cullen Out Of Skyhold For One Afternoon.

It’s a beautiful early autumn day, and they have nothing important to do. Nothing so important that it requires the attention of the Inquisitor or her Commander. Nothing so important it can’t be put off half a day, at least. 

He seems intrigued by her plans, but allows her to keep their destination a supposed secret, riding slowly down the mountain. She imagines that he is well aware of their journey’s end. They’ve visited the clearing only a few times since reaching Skyhold; their favourite retreat from the pressures of their positions.

“Two rules,” he’d said, the first time she brought them there, months before. “No titles, and no business talk. Agreed?”

He smiles warmly as they reach the clearing.

“Have I really been working that hard?” he says, helping her down from the horse. 

She presses a finger against his lips. “Yes. Now, rule two. No more work talk?”

He kisses her finger, and then smirks, carefully removing her hand and clasping it in his. “Agreed.”

Eve pulls a blanket from the pack on Cullen’s horse, giving it to him to spread over the grass, and a couple of books from Dorian’s private shelves. From her own pack, she takes a small picnic basket and two bottles of wine. She carefully leashes the horses to a convenient tree, making sure they’re happy before turning back.

Cullen is stretched out on the blanket, books beside him, his fur-trimmed cloak, which she loves so much, pillowed beneath his head.

And he is asleep.

She laughs. Can’t help it. Here she is, with food and wine and an afternoon of lazing around in the glorious, still-warm sunshine planned for them, perhaps with a little reading, and in the time it’s taken her to tie up the horses, he’s asleep.

Settling down on the blanket beside him, she can’t even be angry. His hair is glowing a burnished gold in the dappled light. His limbs are relaxed, one arm folded between his head and cloak, the other thrown out beside him. He looks peaceful.

She opens a bottle of wine, taking a cup from the basket and filling it almost to the brim. She picks up one of the books. If he’s going to have a nap, she can enjoy herself too.

A couple of hours later, the sun is still high enough, she’s bored of her book, and she’s eaten… more than her share of the picnic. And drunk most of a bottle of wine. She feels light. Relaxed. 

And Cullen is still asleep.

She runs her finger down the centre of his face, starting from his hairline, along his nose, over his lips, finally running it off the end of his chin. He doesn’t even flinch.

She leans over him and kisses his cheeks, his forehead, his jaw, his lips. Still nothing.

She looks around. The clearing is almost carpeted with flowers. Mostly small white ones, with a few red and yellow mixed in. An idea strikes her, something silly and childish, but she’s tipsy enough to think it funny. The flowers are in his colours, and he would look so pretty decorated with them.

First, she makes a few garlands, weaving the tiny flowers together the way she used to with her sisters before she was sent to the Circle. She’s almost surprised to still remember how to do it, but her fingers quickly recall the technique. 

Within minutes, she has crafted a wreath, which she carefully settles onto his head. She waits a few tense seconds for him to wake up, but he stays resolutely asleep.

The next garland is laid, open, across his throat, above the line of his gorget. She loosely braids four garlands together to cover his belt. She carefully loops another garland around the wrist not under his head, and another just above his elbow. Then she starts on the buckles of his armour and boots, weaving flowers into the spaces between the metal and leather, into the spare holes in the straps.

Eventually, when half his body is criss-crossed with white, red and yellow flowers, she begins to tire of the pastime. The light is beginning to fade, just a little, and if Cullen is going to sleep, she may as well take the chance to rest her eyes as well.

She lies down beside him, careful not to crush the flowers she has so diligently woven, and rests her head on his bicep, it being the bit of him least covered in armour.

Annoyingly, the second she gets comfortable, he rolls towards her.

“Eve?”

Heaving a frustrated sigh, she sits up a little, propping herself up on her arm. Some of the flowers have already slipped off, though she’s amused to see that the wreath in his hair is still in place. The Lion of Ferelden, wearing a crown of flowers in his own particular colours. It’s a pretty sight.

“Did I fall asleep? I’m sorry, sweetheart. How long?”

In lieu of an answer, Eve casts her gaze to the sky. The sun, which had been high in the sky when they reached the clearing, is now dipped behind the trees. Looking back at him, she sees he is blushing a little.

“You should have woken me.”

He leans over, one hand on her waist to steady him, and kisses her deeply.

When he pulls back, he’s smirking. That particular smirk that she thinks should probably be illegal for the power it has to make her knees weak. No matter how many times she sees it, it has no less effect on her. Really, if that smirk could be weaponised, the Inquisition would rule the entirety of Thedas.

It’s only then that he notices his new decorations.

“Eve, why am I covered in flowers?”


	4. 4 Times Eve Woke Cullen - 4. Infirmary

The journey from the Hissing Wastes had been long and tiring, to say nothing of the hardships endured within them. All Eve wanted was a long hot bath and an end to the sand that still, days later, managed to be everywhere.

And Cullen.

A walk on the battlements with her dashing commander, and the possibility of stealing him away from his important work for a few hours of peace, would definitely improve her mood. A full week in bed would be paradise itself, but she’s learned to temper her aspirations where her commander is concerned.

As they approach Skyhold, she is surprised to see Cassandra waiting on the path. Unusual. At this late hour, there should have only been a couple of guards to open the gate. She dismounts, unnerved by Cassandra’s silence. Dimly, she notes Bull and Dorian doing the same behind her, Cole taking the reins of all four horses.

“What’s going on?” she asks, trying not to sound as worried as she feels.

“Inquisitor, there has been an… incident. Thank the Maker you are home.”

“Details?” Her voice doesn’t shake, and she’s proud of it.

“It involves the commander. I am not the best to explain it.”

Void take her for being so vague. A million different situations flit through her head.

“Is he dead?” she asks, voice still not shaking.

“No,” Cassandra responds quickly. Then, after a beat. “Not yet.” 

Eve is fairly sure she can’t be more than half a heartbeat from fainting.

“I’ll take you to him.”

Cullen is lying on a pallet in the infirmary. His face is pale, paler than she’s ever seen it, his hair curly and damp with sweat. The blankets have been pulled up to his neck, but she imagines the rest of his body is the same. If it weren’t for the violent shivers that wrack his body every few seconds, she’d think he was dead. She’s seen him in the worst of his withdrawal, and it was nothing compared to this.

“How long has he been like this? What happened?”

The healer by his bed is a kindly-looking woman she’s seen around the castle but has never actually spoken to. She sounds panicked.

“There was a small incident on the battlements. Some black ice improperly dealt with. He slipped and hit his head on the wall. We got to him quickly, and he seemed fine to begin with, a little confused, but he knew his name and the date and your location. Then… that evening at dinner he started shivering.”

She looks to Cassandra in quiet desperation, and Cassandra nods slowly.

“We believe in his confusion he may have taken some lyrium for the pain. His usual dose after so long could cause these symptoms.”

Her knees give way, and someone (Dorian, she thinks) catches her and guides her to the chair beside the pallet.

“When?” she says. Her voice is still steady, somehow.

“Only two days ago,” Cassandra says, calmly. “Few people know. Vivienne has been sitting with him, but I persuaded her to get some rest. The official story is that the commander’s head injury was more severe than first suspected, and he is resting. Rylen and I took training. We have also dealt with his reports and correspondence, with Josephine’s help.”

Something in the back of her brain says she should probably care about that, that the Inquisition has maintained order in her absence, that they’ve successfully concealed the truth of the matter. But nothing can outweigh the strange numb feeling that wracks her.

“And now?” Dorian says, behind her.

The healer shrugs helplessly. “He’s in the Maker’s hands now. With his grace, it may be temporary. It… may not. If he wakes, we’ll know.”

She can’t think, can’t speak. She should have been here when he fell, should have been here to keep an eye on him, stop him when he tried. 

Dorian kneels beside her and turns her chin so that she’s looking at him rather than Cullen.

“He will be fine,” Dorian says, eyes focussed on hers, his voice calm and even. “He is strong. He kicked this once, he can kick it again.”

“Perhaps we should leave you in peace for a short time?” the healer says.

Eve nods, wordlessly. The other conscious occupants of the room file out, leaving her alone with Cullen. Dorian lingers for a few seconds, but eventually follows their lead. Eve turns back to the bed.

He is so pale. That’s what really stands out to her. The colour has completely gone from his face. Hesitantly, she reaches out, rests her hand against his forehead. He is burning hot, like fire beneath her fingertips. She chills her hand, the way she does when he’s suffering nightmares, headaches and muscle aches.

“You are not allowed,” she says softly. “Not allowed to do this to yourself. Not allowed to do this to me. Not allowed to do this to us. Understood?”

His next shiver twists him towards her, and she takes it as an affirmative answer.

“Good.”

She pulls back the blanket which has been firmly tucked around him, enough for her to grasp his hand. It tightens reflexively around hers. She strokes his hair with her magically-cold hand, soothing the damp curls away from his face. He would be so embarrassed to know that other people had seen him looking like this.

“You need to wake up, Cullen,” she says gently. “You need to come back to me.”

He doesn’t respond, but she continues.

“You need to wake up for me. You promised. You promised you’d always come back to me.”

She continues her mantra, over and over again, stroking his head, gripping his hand. Eventually, light through the small window tells her that dawn is breaking, and she realises that he isn’t shaking anymore. He hasn’t shivered for more than a minute. Even more than that.

“That’s better,” she adds, squeezing his hand. He squeezes back, and she smiles. “You’re almost here. Just open your eyes.”

He turns his head towards her, eyes still closed. There’s a little colour back in his face now, she thinks. She hopes. She might be imagining it. She wants him to be better so badly that she has practically willed it.

“Come back to me. Please?”

His eyes flutter, and she leans over, pressing her lips against his.

“Wake up, Cullen,” she whispers against his mouth.

She pulls back a little, just in time to see his eyes drift open.

“There you are,” he whispers, drowsy but coherent. “Where am I?”

Her hand hasn’t yet stopped smoothing his hair, and she draws it, still chilled, down his cheek and along his jaw.

“Infirmary. Don’t worry though, time enough to explain everything when you feel better. You woke up.”

He smiles sleepily, squeezing her hand. “I promised you I would.”

There’s a quiet knock at the door, and it opens before she has a chance to speak.

“Please go and tell everyone that the commander is awake,” she snaps, without turning round.

“I knew he was just waiting for you, my dear,” Vivienne says, amused. “He’s stubborn like that.”

Eve glances over her shoulder, too happy to be embarrassed. 

“He keeps his promises.”


	5. And 1 Time He Woke Her - Farm

Soft, warm, light lures her awake. A gentle pressure on her face. Calloused yet caring fingers brushing the curls away from her cheeks.

When she finally persuades her eyes to open, her vision is filled with Cullen, kneeling beside the bed. Still stroking her hair.

And, she notes hazily, disconcertingly fully dressed.

“Hello,” he says quietly, a soft smile on his distressingly handsome face. 

“What time is it?”

“Early. Dawn is just breaking.”

Far too early for him to be looking like that and using that voice. She tries to move, but his hand is still on her head, preventing her from doing more than tilting her face towards the window. As he says, the sky is barely light, the warm glow of the morning sun tinting the clouds pink.

The window reminds her where they are. Not in their room at Skyhold, not at Skyhold at all. The Rutherford family farm. A very special trip.

“Maker…” she breathes, clarity suddenly returning. “We’re supposed to be on our honeymoon, Cullen.”

“I have to go,” he replies with just an edge of teasing. “The work doesn’t do itself, and it will be done faster if I help.”

She reaches up, cupping his cheek. He hasn’t bothered to shave for a few days, and the stubble makes him look even more handsome and rugged than usual.

“But you can stay as long as you want. And there’s breakfast on the table if you’re hungry.”

“You cooked?”

Her mind fills with images of the last time she caught him cooking. The pastries he’d attempted to make for her. The Skyhold kitchens covered in flour, sugar, eggs and butter, jam that had somehow ended up on the ceiling, and in the middle of it all, an exhausted, batter-smeared commander. Cook hadn’t spoken to either of them for a month, and the pastries had burnt as they got a little too… distracted.

He looks at her with an expression of wide-eyed innocence.

“I can make a simple breakfast, sweetheart.”

She raises her eyebrows, and his smile turns devilish.

“Fine. Rosalie has made breakfast. Don’t worry.”

She sighs, pulling his face down for a lazy kiss.

“Are you sure you can’t come back to bed, just for a little while? Just a few more minutes?”

He smirks. That smirk. That ridiculously perfect, heart melting, knee-weakening smirk, and she’s powerless against it.

“Last night wasn’t enough for you, wife?”

“I’m not sure anything is ever going to be enough for me, husband.”

One day, that smirk is going to kill her, she’s certain of it.

He leans down, slipping his arm under her head as he kisses the breath out of her. Her other hand winds around his neck, keeping him close. She leans backwards, hoping to tip him onto the bed, but he’s too strong for her.

“Sweet Eve,” he breathes, pulling away from her just far enough to rest his forehead against hers.

“My Cullen,” she breathes back. “Stay.”

He opens his eyes; those perfect golden eyes that cut right down to her soul.

“Believe me, there is nothing I’d rather do than spend all day in bed with you. But I shouldn’t.”

Void take him for being so honourable. And yet, he wouldn’t be the man she loves so much without it.

“Go, then. I’ll be here. Waiting.”

“Demon,” he whispers. “Putting that image in my head. I won’t be able to think of anything else.”

She grins. “Then go, and work quickly, and hurry back.”

“You’ll have to release me.”

Her hand is still tangled in her hair. She presses him back to her for another heart-searing kiss. Before either of them can catch their breath again, she moves her hands to his chest. He stands quickly, moving before either of them have a chance to change their mind.

“Stay right there,” he says, smiling. “With this as my inspiration, I’ll have the work done in half the time.”

She throws one of the many pillows at him.

“If you wait any longer, all the work will be done.”

He disappears through the door, and she lies back against the bed. She could get used to him waking her up.


End file.
